UntitledFor Now
by AngelOfShadws
Summary: AU...Lord Voldemort is taking over, and only a brave few stand between him and total domination. Ron Weasley is a victim of fate, trapped under Voldemort's rule, but maybe a mission to destroy those who stand in Voldemort's way can set him free...


**Disclaimer/Author's Note**: Harry Potter obviously doesn't belong to me. If it did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. This is PG-13 for now but will probably ((almost indefinitely)) go up to R in later chapters, and it's an AU. Also, it will be slash in later chapters, so if you don't like slash, please hit the Back button right now. It's stupid to flame something you've been properly warned about.

As for the title…hopefully I'll change it in time. I'm not very creative with titles, and I will welcome any suggestions. Thanks, and now onto the fic :)

**Summary**: AU...Lord Voldemort is taking over, and only a brave few stand between him and total domination. Ron Weasley is a victim of fate, trapped under Voldemort's rule, but maybe a mission to destroy those who stand in Voldemort's way can set him free...

Chapter One

He gazed upon the death-strewn battlefield from the protection of the trees with an indifferent eye. A fine mist of rain was falling, and he grimaced at the chill that was seeping through his cloak. It was almost winter. In a few weeks the rain would be snow.

He thought it might be a bad winter, too, judging from the frigidity of the air already. He had his senses tuned to his surroundings. He wanted to make sure no one was around before he exposed himself. There would be a great deal of trouble if he was caught here.

After several long moments he was satisfied that it was safe to leave his cover. He took long, graceful strides from his hiding place onto the battlefield, and let his eyes wander over the mess of bodies lying broken on the muddy ground. He didn't waste his time stopping to examine or turn any of the bodies over; he would know indefinitely when he found who he was looking for, if they were indeed among the dead here, by one unmistakable trait that was all but impossible to miss. But he hoped with all his heart that he would not find them here. The only reason he came, to this battlefield and dozens before it, was because there was a great chance that he might find who he was looking for, and if it were so then he wanted to know.

He walked undisturbed for nearly two hours, until he had looked upon just about every corpse there. He did not find who he was looking for. What he did find saddened him anyway, though he did not show it on the outside. Well, war always took its toll, he reminded himself matter-of-factly. Then he turned from the twisted body of a boy no older than himself and headed back to his master's castle.

Voldemort's castle was large, and somehow predatory. Its imposing stone walls were uneven and ancient, but still strong. He walked past the line of guards, making sure to appear confident and avoid eye contact. They were the wrong sort to mix with. He stepped into the receiving hall and proceeded down a long, twisted maze of corridors until he came to his quarters. He intended to rest, as there was nothing else for him to do when he wasn't out on the battlefield or on a mission. He had gotten no further than getting his hand on the doorknob when he sensed someone else in the corridor with him. He turned, an eyebrow raised, silently demanding an explanation from the messenger. The boy cowered a bit under that cold gaze, and spoke in a meek voice.

"Lord Voldemort wishes to see you," he said.

"Thank you."

He turned from the door and strode back down the hall, leaving the messenger boy to shiver alone in the dark. They all had to fend for themselves here. It didn't take him long to reach Voldemort's hall, a large chamber in the very heart of the castle where he spent most of his time and tended his dark business. He was sitting on his throne, dressed in long, rich robes as dark as the blackest night. His hair was disheveled, as usual, and glossy like a raven's wing in what little light the sconces on the walls provided. There was a hooded man beside the short set of stairs leading up to the throne, but he remained silent and still. Voldemort watched him approach, a knowing sneer curling his lips.

"Hello, Ronald," he said. His voice was cold, and it sent a shiver down Ron's spine. How he despised the man!

"My Lord," Ron bowed, and hated himself for it.

"I see you've returned from your little outing. Find anything of interest?"

Ron stiffened. He was caught. He knew it.

"No, my lord," he replied, his tone holding just the tiniest bit of panic. He hoped it would go unnoticed. Voldemort smiled, but it was a cold, cruel smile.

"You didn't find any redheaded resistance fighters? None among the dead who resemble a lost brother, perhaps?"

Ron remained silent. He was trying to force himself not to panic and failing. Voldemort was not pleased. And that meant pain. A lot of it.

"You've been a bad boy, Ronald. Sneaking off to scour the battlefields, when you know very well it is against my law. You could have been caught." His eyes narrowed slyly. "You could have defected…and I don't like the thought that maybe I can't trust you. You wouldn't do such a stupid thing, would you?" He was smirking. Ron's insides were twisted in a horrible knot. He knew what would happen if his loyalty was in question. He knew what would happen if he ever tried to rebel.

"Bring her out," Voldemort ordered. Immediately a door slid open in the shadowed wall and two tall cloaked figures emerged from the darkness, dragging a frightened young girl with flaming red hair between them. She was gagged and her hands were tied behind her back. Her big, soft brown eyes were wide in terror, and looked upon him, silently pleading.

"Ginny!" He cried. He couldn't help it. The cloaked figures shoved her forward, and she stumbled to her knees before him, barely keeping herself from toppling down to the floor. He just stood there and stared at her, his blood like ice coursing through his veins.

"I know what you've been doing," Voldemort continued. It was obvious that he was enjoying the torment he was pushing down on his servant. "And it will stop. You have been warned of the consequences of defying my rule, but I think you may need a little reminding."

"Voldemort, don't—" But his plea went unheard. Voldemort drew his wand from the depths of his robes and aimed.

"Crucio," he said, and there was no mistaking the mirth in his dark eyes as the first of Ginny's screams filled the room. Ron screamed and dropped to his knees. His sister twisted on the richly carpeted floor in agony, the screams ripping from her throat, and he gripped her, forcing her thrashing form to his. Voldemort stopped the torture for a moment. His eyes were glittering maliciously.

"That's 'Lord Voldemort' to you," he said. "Yet another slight rebellious act that must be punished." He raised the wand again, and Ginny's screams started anew. Ron cradled her, feeling he was dying with each agonized shiver that coursed through her slight frame. The torture went on until Ron was screaming, too, his voice growing coarse and cracking just as bad as hers. He wanted this to end. He wanted to kill Voldemort. He wanted to kill himself. Anything to make this end.

"Please, master! Please stop! You're killing her!" He screamed, and finally, the torture did end. Ginny slumped in his arms. Her face was cramped in pain even in unconsciousness. He bowed over her, tears of pain and anger trailing down his face and into her hair. She still trembled.

Voldemort laughed. "I wouldn't want to kill my most efficient way of punishing you. Not yet, anyway."

Ron wanted to tear his throat out. There was silence in the great chamber as Voldemort regarded him, watching as he cradled Ginny close to him. He hadn't seen her in almost a year, and he saw that the time hadn't been kind to her. She was very thin, too thin, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked sick. She looked like she was going to die. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks at the sight of her, and he did his best to hide them from the monster watching, though he knew the tears weren't unnoticed.

"I summoned you here for a reason, Ron," Voldemort said quietly. His voice was like something disgusting crawling over Ron's flesh. "I'm sending you on an assignment. It will require a great deal of stealth, secrecy, indifference. This was just something to remind you of what will happen if you refuse. Or if you fail," He pinned Ron with a promising look. "Don't fail me, Ron. Your sister's life depends on it." His eyes flicked to the two hooded figures. "Take her away."

The cloaked figures moved forward and gripped Ginny's limp form. They hauled her up from the floor none too gently, and Ron had to fight the urge to grab her and tear her from their filthy grasp. He had to fight to keep his hands from flying to the dirks he had hidden on his body and planting them in the Death Eaters' throats. They drug her back into the shadows of the hidden door.

Ron remained kneeling on the floor, his head bowed as he glared his rage at the carpet. It took a long time for him to compose himself enough to speak, but when it was done, he raised his head and stared defiantly at the man who had ruined his life.

"What do I have to do?"

-

The "assignment" took place the very next day. It was rainy again, and just as miserable as Ron's mood as he and one of Voldemort's minions trotted their horses down a narrow wooded path. They had been traveling for almost two hours now, and he was growing tired of sitting atop the great, bouncing beast. The man ahead of him didn't appear to be bothered by the long trip in the least, but that didn't really surprise Ron. Severus Snape, upon revealing himself at Voldemort's side the night before, didn't seem the type of man to be bothered by much. Everything about him was dark; his hair, his eyes, his heart. The silence between them was tense, though Ron thought that perhaps it was only so for him. He doubted Snape was very concerned by his presence. He was, after all, the one with the wand, though Voldemort had made it clear that it wouldn't be needed. Ron wouldn't try to escape or sabotage their plans. Not if he wanted to see Ginny again.

They rode for another hour before Snape finally drew them to a halt in a copse of trees that marked the end of the forest trail. He dismounted and Ron followed suit, drawing his cloak tighter about him in an feeble gesture of protection. Snape watched him dispassionately and pulled his wand from the inside of his robes.

"Are you ready?" He asked, though with no inflection of really caring. Ron felt some of the color leave his face and his body react in fear. He swallowed against the sudden dryness of his mouth and forced himself to remain calm.

"Does it matter?" He replied icily. Snape's thin lips curled up in a malicious sneer.

"Good point." The wand was raised and aimed, and then Ron's world was filled with pain. He dropped to the forest floor and curled into a ball of pure agony as Snape worked the Cruciatus Curse on him. He was in too much pain to even scream. To do anything but lie there and beg every god and goddess known to him for death. It seemed to go on for a very long time, each burst of pain stretching on for an eternity, until finally blessed unconsciousness descended upon him, blocking out the world and all its wicked sensations with an infinite black wave of nothingness.


End file.
